


To Be Free To Love

by Keira_63



Series: The Queen & Her Lord M [14]
Category: ITV Victoria, ITV Victoria (2016), Victoria (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Didn't mean for this to get so long but the ideas kept coming, F/M, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Love, Love Confessions, Modern AU, Modern Royalty, Modern Royalty AU, Older Man/Younger Woman, Queen!Victoria, Requited Love, Unofficial Aide!Melbourne, Vicbourne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keira_63/pseuds/Keira_63
Summary: Lightbulbs flash, journalists shout – she’s blinded and deafened all at once. She reaches out towards the man next to her and everything focuses when she feels the warmth of his hand in hers.
Modern Royalty AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the historical characters in Victoria nor do I own the TV series which was written by Daisy Goodwin. Any lines from the show or book are also not mine and are just borrowed from Daisy Goodwin and ITV Victoria.
> 
> I haven't made Lord M Prime Minister as he just wouldn't meet the queen as much now as he would have in the 1800s. Instead he's a sort of unofficial royal aide/advisor to help teach her what she needs to know about being queen. For background Robert Peel is the Prime Minister in this, though he doesn't really feature.

_Present Day_

Lightbulbs flash, journalists shout – she’s blinded and deafened all at once. She reaches out towards the man next to her and everything focuses when she feels the warmth of his hand in hers.

He looks down at her, “it will be alright, don’t worry.”

And she believes him, because she thinks there is nothing she cannot do or face with this man by her side.

They share a look. And they are not in that moment the Queen of England and Lord Melbourne. They are only Victoria and William.

 

* * *

 

_Three Years Ago_

The recently crowned Queen Victoria sits and thinks of the irritating Lady Flora and her comments following the first inspection of the troops.

_“Your Majesty, I wondered if I might have a word.”_

_“Now? I need to change for dinner.”_

_“You see, I noticed during the parade that you turned your back on the troops on a number of occasions. I'm sure it was a mistake but, according to precedent, if a sovereign turns their back on a regiment, they will no longer form part of the household cavalry. I assume this was not your intention.”_

_“Indeed not. But no-one mentioned it to me.”_

_“I assure you they noticed. But no one likes to correct their monarch, Ma'am.”_

_“Except for you, evidently.”_

_“I feel it is my duty. There are many things that the Baroness, being German, did not teach you. I'd be happy to help you in future. My family have been courtiers for generations.”_

_“That won't be necessary.”_  
  


She needs help, needs someone well versed in court life who is not a crony of her mama or Sir John Conroy. Her ladies and aides are helpful but even they do not seem to know everything she needs to learn.

Her aides are used to her poor uncle, who was far more interested in his passion for the sea and the family he had with his mistress than in the finer points of government. And her ladies are as new to life inside the palace as she is, though they do at least tend to have information on every piece of society gossip or interesting news.

 

Victoria looks at the man in front of her. William Lamb, Viscount Melbourne. One of her new ladies, Emma Portman, has recommended him to her as someone to aid her in acclimatising to her new role, one she knows is woefully unprepared for.

He is handsome, she notes, despite the fact that he is surely at least twenty five years older than she is. But, more importantly, he looks kind, with no hint of the grasping and greedy looks the likes of Sir John Conroy cast towards her.

“Lord Melbourne, Emma tells me that you might be able to assist me.”

“I will do my best, Ma’am.”

“My mother has always been … overprotective,” she tells him, “and she has never allowed me to be taught about what my role will be. She means, of course, for me to look to her and that horrid Sir John for advice, but I wish to follow my own path.”

“Quite right too, Ma’am,” he says with a hint of a smile.

“Thank you … Lord M.”

He raises an eyebrow and she only shrugs playfully.

It is the start of something beautiful.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

She almost dives into the waiting car to escape the journalists’ shouting and the flashing cameras and the crude insinuations she cannot help but hear peppered among the questions.

He slides in smoothly next to her, looking far less flustered than she is. It helps calm her a little to see that he is still as steady as ever, that this disaster has not shaken his composure.

The car starts immediately and she settles back into her seat feeling immensely relieved at having escaped the press for the moment.

But of course, she thinks, the peace will not last for long, not now their secret is out.

The difficulties are only just beginning.

 

* * *

 

_Two Years & Eleven Months Ago_

 

“Note cards?” she asks, a little confused.

“It is a good method, Ma’am, when meeting a large group. The key people, the ones you really must be sure to speak to, are on the blue cards, and everyone else is pink. I have listed their name, title, how they are to be addressed and a few key facts for use as talking points.”

“But there are a hundred cards here, Lord M, and I am meeting them all in only three days.”

Panic starts to rise. She is not prepared for this and she is so keen not to fail – she feels a flash of anger directed towards her mama for never allowing her to learn about this sort of thing in any detail.

“I will be there too, Ma’am,” he reassures her, “and so will your aides and ladies. Between us we should be able to fill any gaps in your knowledge. The cards are to help you get an idea of the people you will be meeting and to help you become familiar with their names. Besides, I am sure you will perform admirably – I do not think you give yourself enough credit, Ma’am.”

 

His faith in her bolsters her spirits and she determines to do her very best to learn as many names as she can to prove that he is right about her.

And if some of the palace staff whisper and start joking rumours that the queen is going mad like her grandfather because she spends hours during each of the next three days walking around the palace muttering names to herself, then she finds that she does not much mind when she ends up impressing her guests with the correct pronunciation of unusual names and cheerful enquiries about their family, favourite pet or business interests.

Lord M, she decides, is invaluable to her.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

“Did you hear what they were saying?” she asks with a worried frown on her face.

“I doubt anyone could understand a word the lot of them were saying,” he replies dryly, “it was just a roar of noise really.”

They fall silent for a moment, letting the quiet of the limousine soothe their ears.

“Do you regret it?” he asks, seemingly casual but with an almost undetectable note of fear and vulnerability in his voice.

She answers immediately. She answers without any doubt.

“I will never regret it.”

 

* * *

 

_Two & A Half Years Ago_

 

“I should have listened to you, Lord M.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, Ma’am.”

“But I cannot afford to do so. They scrutinise my every move like a scientist watching an experiment and I do not want to fail.”

“The press are vultures,” he assures her, “they take everything out of context and hype up each little piece of news until it barely resembles fact, and every unimportant event until one would think it was as vital as the moon landings.”

“I have been trying so hard. Trying to learn what I can so that I will not be ignorant of the country I am queen of, trying to be the symbol I am supposed to be. Yet all they see, all they think I am, is a silly girl playing dress-up.”

“And now, of course,” she says sadly, “they believe me callous, accuse me of tormenting a dying woman!”

“You could not have known about Lady Flora, Ma’am.”

“Yes, Lord M, but for a while I believed the rumours. I _wanted_ to believe them, wanted to think she and Sir John had conducted an affair, wanted my bad opinion of them to be vindicated.”

“That just makes you human,” he says, hesitating for only a moment before gently taking her hand and rubbing comforting circles on her palm with his thumb, “and we both know Lady Flora has never given you reason to like her.”

“But you warned me not to interfere, not to act any differently. Are you not angry with me for ignoring your advice.”

“You are only learning, Ma’am, and you are allowed to make mistakes. In a month or two this will all be forgotten, you’ll see.”

She smiles tentatively at him.

He smiles back.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

“I am sure my family must be cursed for bad luck,” she says to him as they sit hand in hand while the limousine dodges traffic and paparazzi trying to get them back to the palace.

“So much death,” she explains when she sees his questioning look, “my father and uncles and aunts, and poor cousin Charlotte. Then few of the family I have left seem truly happy – and I shudder to think of the life my uncle Cumberland leads, the stories are just too horrid.”

“Why do you think you are such a symbol of hope?” he asks, “you are a bright light in your family, Victoria.”

She smiles at him, “and you have been my lucky charm, always.”

She leans her head on his shoulder and tries to rest.

* * *

 

_Two Years & Four Months Ago_

 

The stories about Lady Flora Hastings have returned with a vengeance now, on the lady’s sad death due to cancer, and the press have not been kind.

“Good morning, Ma’am,” says Melbourne when he comes in to find her seated at the piano, “come, there are three regiments waiting, I believe.”

“I can’t do it,” she whispers with a despondent look on her face, “everything is ruined. It's all my fault.”

He takes a seat next to her and after a moment of uncertainty he speaks, “did you know I had a son? Augustus. When Caro – my wife – ran away, he became very afraid of the dark. He would only go to sleep if I was holding his hand. Funny thing is, I don't think I was ever happier than on those nights when I was sitting there ... feeling my little boy drift off. When he died, I thought there was no point to my existence.”

Despite her sadness she still looks up, shocked and saddened by his words, “Lord M, how can you say that?”

“I no longer feel that way, Ma'am. I thought I would never find any solace. But then I became your advisor and I think ... I hope, your friend. Of course, nothing will ever bring my boy back, but through you I've been given a reason to continue. And you must do the same. You must go out and you must smile … you must smile and wave, and never let them know how hard it is to bear.”

  
She looks at him, at his eyes full of sympathy and sorrow, and is so thankful that she has him, that he always knows exactly what to say.

She will go out and there will be whispers and jeers. But she will follow his advice because it is the right thing to do.

And she knows that even though she cannot smile now, she will do so in the future.

With his help.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

She fiddles with her phone, opening up the internet browser and wincing as she sees the headlines pop up on the gossip websites.

They are not at all pleasant – in an obvious attempt to cause the most scandal they have all focused a great deal on the age gap, a reminder of the Flora Hastings scandal, and plenty about the colourful past of the man sitting next to her.

She quickly pulls up the news pages, hoping for something a little more tasteful.

It isn’t too bad – the BBC and ITV are shocked and quite disapproving but not overly rude and at least acknowledging that the newly revealed relationship has its positive points.

 

Before she can turn back to the gossip pages full of headlines like _Mrs Melbourne!_ and _Queen’s Affair With Infamous Aide_ her phone is tugged out of her hand.

“Do not upset yourself,” he tells her, “they will find something new to talk about soon enough.”

“But can’t I do something?” she asks, “surely it isn’t right for them to talk about you like this … like you’re some sort of deviant.”

“Their facts aren’t wrong,” he reminds her, “they may embellish and speculate but I will admit that I do not have the most conservative past – the years Caro and I were married … well they can be called turbulent to say the least.”

She leans forward to kiss him, a show of affection, a reminder that she knows his heart, knows he is a good man (a great man) no matter the skeletons in his closet.

“I do not care what they say about me,” he tells her as they break apart, “all that concerns me is your happiness and safety.”

He drops her phone into the bag at her feet. She glances briefly down at it, the urge to continue looking at reactions to her relationship still strong.

But then he kisses her and she forgets about her worries.

* * *

 

_Two Years Ago_

 

“You have had a visit from Conroy?”

Melbourne lifts his head from Plato’s _Republic_ , which he has been perusing and occasionally quoting to her while she works at her desk, “I have, Ma’am,” he answers in a carefully neutral tone.

“Mama tells me I should not meet you so much.”

“Sir John Conroy told me much the same thing, Ma’am.”

“I do not understand why I should not see you. Mama knows how helpful you are and you are my friend, my best friend.”

“We are so much in each other’s company, Ma’am,” he reminds her, “and it could be misconstrued. The Duchess perhaps wishes for you to not be so limited in your social circle.”

“I am the queen, Lord M,” she says, “my social circle, as you say, is already far too big. And besides, I like your company. No one else understands me like you do, no one makes it so easy and entertaining to learn of all the complexities of court life.”

“You flatter me, Ma’am,” he says with a quirk of his lips and a raised eyebrow, “and like all men I am susceptible to flattery.”

They laugh together.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

They are getting closer to Buckingham Palace, closer to the reckoning that is sure to come.

She looks out of the windows as they whizz past the scenes of London, past ordinary people going about their ordinary days.

“Sometimes I think about what it would be like if I were an ordinary woman,” she tells him, “I never wanted to be queen, not really. Occasionally I consider what it would have been like if Charlotte had lived and I had been a minor royal able to have her own life away from the scrutiny of those I am sure are just waiting for me to make a mistake.”

He stays quiet but holds her hand reassuringly as he listens to her thoughts.

“But of course if I were not queen then I would not know you,” she says, “and I think … in the end … you have made it all worth it, given me a port in the storm, someone to love more than I ever thought possible.”

“I just want you to know,” she tells him, “that no matter what I might hate about this life, no matter what idle thoughts I might have about what could have been, I would not wish for it to be different. I will not ever wish to give you up.”

She looks at him then, hopes he realises how much she cares.

He looks back at her, eyes shining with love, and she knows that he understands her perfectly.

 

* * *

 

_One & A Half Years Ago_

 

“Lord M, you must come and see the painting I did of Dash. I got him to sit still for just long enough.”

“That is a feat in itself, Ma’am,” he says with a smile, “but why not just take a photograph and work from that?”

“Lord M!” she cries, quite scandalised, “what an idea. How can I really bring life into my painting of dear Dashy if I am working from a photograph rather than real subject?”

“Of course, Ma’am,” he concedes with a wink, “my mistake.”

She laughs and the sound delights him, but his brows furrow as he remembers the reason he is there, the reason her cheerful conversation has almost made him forget.

“Ma’am,” he says to her, “there is a matter of some seriousness that I must speak to you about.”

She gestures for him to sit, her mood unchanged. He knows she expects him to speak of some foreign policy or state visit, serious but manageable. She does not know yet what he really has to say, what he does not want to but thinks he must.

He looks at her trusting, guileless expression.

And he feels like a traitor.

 

\--------------------

 

“I do not understand,” she says ten minutes later, when he has fumbled through a long-winded speech on how he must no longer be by her side.

“I cannot stay as your advisor, Ma’am. There has been far too much in the papers already and I will not allow myself to continue to cause the public to lose confidence in you because of my presence.”

“But we had such a successful visit to France,” she says, “and the opening of the memorial to my father went so well.”

“Nevertheless, Ma’am, I feel that I am hindering rather than helping now. You now understand your duties as queen and people begin to wonder why I remain when you no longer really require my help. I do not want to cause you problems.”

 

She drops her head, eyes wide and unbelieving, “this cannot be. How can I ...? How will I ...? Do you really mean to forsake me?”  
“I have no choice, Ma’am.”

He bows and walks quickly out of the room before she can say anything else, before any words from her can change his shaky resolve.

He is not fast enough to avoid hearing her first intake of breath and sob. It breaks his heart.

But he keeps walking. Because he only wants what is best for her.

 

\--------------------

 

He wakes the next morning in his library at Dover House with a raging headache courtesy of far too much brandy.

“Coffee,” he mutters to himself, before getting up and, shielding his eyes from the sliver of light coming through a crack in the curtains, making his way over to the coffee machine near the door.

He has one each in his kitchen and his bedroom and the lounge. He gets far too little sleep these days (staying up late reading; out at a social engagement; or kept up by thoughts of the queen, wondering when it will all fall apart but desperately hoping it won’t) and coffee is sometimes the only thing that keeps him going.

He rummages around in one of his desk drawers while he waits for the coffee to cool a little until he manages to find a packet of Paracetamol to help dull the throbbing in his head.

He spots a pile of books on a side table on German politics and culture in the last twenty years and winces. He has been reading them to refresh his knowledge so he might give the queen advice on the upcoming visit from the Chancellor of Germany ... but of course now he won’t need them, won’t ever show the queen another useful mnemonic for remembering names, won’t get the chance to tell her that amusing story about the time he ended up entertaining a German politician for dinner and got into a two hour argument with the man about Mozart.

He suddenly feels very tired and quite sure that caffeine will not help at all.

He turns towards the desk to grab his half-filled glass of water to wash down the Paracetamol when he hears a knock at the door.

 

“I'm not to be disturbed,” he says, a little irritated, for his housekeeper surely knows from his defeated mood last night that he is in no mood for company.

But when he turns he sees the queen, “Your Majesty,” he says, the shock evident in his voice.

“As you did not appear to be planning on returning,” she says archly, “I decided to visit you.”

He is suddenly very aware that his clothes, having been slept in, are exceptionally rumpled.  He has definitely not brushed his hair, his shirt’s top three buttons are open and he has a horrible feeling that one of his socks has a rather large hole in the toe.

“Forgive my disarray. I ... I was not expecting visitors.”

“Evidently!” she tells him, holding back a laugh.

He straightens his clothes as best he can, “please. At least ... come ... come sit. You can tell me what has brought you from the Palace.”

He leads her over to a seat and tries not to ponder over what she must think of the disarray in the room.

When she is seated he waits for her to speak, not quite able to look her straight in the eye.

 

“I have missed you,” she says earnestly.

He lets out an amused little snort despite his melancholy, “it has not even been a day, Ma’am.”

“I have missed you all the same,” she says honestly, “why do you say that you will no longer visit and help me, Lord M. Have I angered you … do you not enjoy your visits?”

His eyes widen at her words and how very wrong they are. The idea that he could ever dislike her company is ridiculous to him.

“Do you imagine that I want to leave you, Ma'am?” he says with feeling, “but there is something more important here than my feelings, or even yours. I must consider what is best and that is not necessarily what we might want.”

She stands abruptly and he does too with a wary expression.

“I do not understand why, Lord M.”

“I have no choice, Ma’am,” he repeats his excuse of the previous day, thinking of the snide newspaper comments, people whispering about how he is old enough to be her father, foreign dignitaries looking wide-eyed when they realise the queen’s close relationship with the man who is a main subject of the late Lady Caroline Lamb’s infamous autobiography.

She takes a step closer to him. He thinks he should back away. She is far too close. He can smell her perfume, can see every nuance of her confused and hurt and angry expression.

But he just wants to enjoy being close to her.

“There is always a choice, Lord M, always. Tell me honestly, do you wish to leave?”

Her tone demands the truth and he knows she deserves it, “you know I do not.”

“Then stay with me,” she says, “it is as simple as that.”

 

He knows it is not that simple.

He has parted from her for her own good, for the good of a country that do not want or need any more royal scandals. He should stick by his resolve – he is sure it is the right thing to do.

He thinks of the press and her interfering mother and the gossip his continued presence will cause.

But what is all that compared to her?

He knows he will stay.  


* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

“Who are you texting?” she asks as his fingers fly across his phone, the half-smile an indication that it is hopefully nothing to worry about.

“A group chat with my brother Frederick and my sister Emily,” he explains, “they are trying to insist that they are mortally offended by the fact that they had to discover our relationship through the newspapers.”

“Oh, they are not angry are they?” she asks with a worried frown.

She has not met either of his siblings yet and she does not want their first impression of her to be a bad one.  
He laughs, “do not worry, they understand the reason for our secrecy.”

“Do they … do they approve?” she asks tentatively, “after all it is because of me that you have been dragged into all of this media circus.”

“My family is well acquainted with scandal,” he reminds her, “after all none of the three of us are even sure that the first Viscount Melbourne was indeed our biological father. And I have spoken enough about you that they guessed my feelings were more than just platonic. They only want me to be happy, and while they were a little concerned to begin with I think they believe you to be a far more rational person than Caroline was, and far more capable of making me happy. We have always been close, my siblings and I – they will support us.”

“I should like to meet them,” she says, “your sister is married to Lord Palmerston, is she not? And your brother has recently married?”

“Yes,” he says, “Frederick’s wife is Alexandrina … she is significantly younger than he is so he is in a position more than most to understand our relationship.”

“I do hope they will come and visit soon,” she reiterates.

“Oh there will be no keeping them away now,” he laughs.

She is so glad. There will be enough hostility to their relationship from her side of the family and it will be nice to have some support from his.

 

* * *

 

_One Year Ago_

 

“Ah, it is you, Ma'am. I couldn't tell.”

It isn’t quite true – he will always recognise her – but she does look startlingly different. She is wearing jeans and a jumper instead of her usual dresses, her braided brown hair has been replaced by a long blonde wig, and her eyes are covered by an oversized pair of sunglasses.

“The housekeeper said you would be here,” she tells him, “I am sorry to disturb you, Lord M ... but I had to talk to you.”

“Brocket Hall is honoured, Ma'am.”

“I have come here incognito, of course.”

He laughs, “of course. But your presence cannot be entirely disguised.”

The disguise is good, he knows, but there is something about her that calls to him, something he recognises no matter what she might do to hide her true appearance.

 

She looks nervous. He wants to reach out to her but he does not dare.

“Yesterday I realised something.”

She does not elaborate, only looks like she is trying to find the words, “yes, Ma'am?” he encourages.

“I think perhaps now ... I am speaking as a woman and not as a queen. I feel, I know... that you are the only companion I could ever desire.”

He can scarcely believe what she has said, cannot quite comprehend that his love for her, his absolute adoration, may actually be requited.

And yet he knows what he must say to her now, knows his duty and how hard it will be to ensure he does it.

He takes her hands in his, caresses them gently, sure that this is the only chance he will ever have for such an intimacy.

“I believe when you give your heart it will be without hesitation. But you cannot give it to me.”

She looks downhearted but not defeated, “I think,” she tells him, “you have it already.”

His heart sings at the reiteration of her feelings even as it sinks with the knowledge that he must not accept her love, must be even more straightforward in his refusal.

“No,” he tells her, that one word causing him so much regret, “you must keep it intact for someone else.”

A rejection, one he feels as keenly as she does. He can see the hurt on her face and he wishes so much that he could make it go away.

He hopes she does not cry. He does not think he can continue this charade if he sees a single tear on her beautiful face.

“I see,” she says, her voice cool and sad, “then I am sorry to have disturbed you, Lord Melbourne.

  
  
He watches her go with a heavy heart.

Has he made the right decision? Surely it is better this way, for what could he offer her but further difficulties in her role as queen?

And yet … he does not wish her to believe him indifferent, even if he can never truly act on his feelings.

He thinks of the costume ball being thrown that night in honour of the queen’s visiting uncle Leopold, King of the Belgians. The queen has discussed it often with him and he knows her chosen costume.

Can he be so daring, so foolish?

Yes, he thinks, for her he can.

 

\--------------------

 

Surprisingly it isn’t in the papers the next day.

The queen as Elizabeth and Lord Melbourne as her Leicester might have been quite the story but it is overshadowed by a few celebrity scandals, and by a drunken argument between the queen’s cousin Prince George and a visiting diplomat that grabs much attention at the party.

Few notice the queen and Lord Melbourne dancing and talking together. They do not see the queen pin a single white orchid to her dress, nor do they witness her wipe a discreet tear away as she realises the truth about Lord Melbourne’s feelings for her.

Her whole life is one big display but this moment, though it is in a crowded ballroom, is just for them.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

They almost skid to a halt by one of the palace’s back doors and with a quick nod of thanks to Brodie, who has driven them smoothly and safely through the raging traffic and pursuing paparazzi, they hurry inside.

They are met by one of Victoria’s aides, an occasionally secretive but exceptionally able and loyal young woman.

“Skerrett,” Victoria sighs in relief, “thank goodness it’s you. I was so scared mama would turn up to shout at me.”

Eliza Skerrett smiles at them and there is no awkwardness in her looks as there are in so many of those passing them now, gawking and whispering.

Skerrett has always been a quiet supporter of their relationship, the one to usher interlopers out of the room or direct those seeking the queen away when she has been alone with Lord Melbourne.

“We thought the Duchess’ presence might be,” she pauses for a moment, trying to find a word that shows her meaning without being too offensive, “… distracting for you, Ma’am. The Baroness has made sure to keep her in the west wing for now.”

“You are a lifesaver, Skerrett,” Victoria thanks her, “I can only imagine what she’s been saying since those pictures emerged.”

Skerrett wisely decides not to comment on the Duchess’ thoughts about her daughter’s liaison with Lord Melbourne. It is only likely to make the situation much worse.

 

“I’ll take you up to everyone else, Ma’am,” Skerrett says, “we’ve set up in your study to prepare for the press conference.”

Victoria nods and reaches out to take William’s hand as they begin to make their way upstairs.

“Stay away from the windows,” he whispers, “you do not need to be upset any more by the press, not now.”

“It’s not all bad, Ma’am, Lord Melbourne,” Skerrett makes an attempt to cheer them, “a lot of the Americans think the whole thing is brilliant, a real romance.”

“The Americans,” Williams says wryly, “are not the real problem – it’s the English we need to worry about.”

“Oh we’ve seen quite a bit of positive feeling here too,” Skerrett insists, “the papers want drama and scandal but there are a lot of people commenting, talking about how it _is_ 2016 now and why is everyone being so old-fashioned about it all.”

She has a point, Victoria knows. It is ridiculous how much fuss is being made about the photos – they are fully clothed and only kissing after all. And when she thinks of all of the escapades her uncles have been involved in her actions seem almost insignificant. But perhaps it is a bit much for some – the idea of a twenty-one year old in a secret relationship with a man of colourful reputation close to thirty years her senior would probably be a shock in relation to any woman, let alone the Queen of England.

Still, it is the 21st century, not the 19th, and it is not like anyone can expect her and William’s relationship to affect the running of the country – she is a figurehead and she knows it, accepts it, and is thankful for it because if this is the trouble it causes now then what would have been the reaction to such a relationship back when the monarch had real power?

 

“You don’t mind the stories, do you?” she asks William.

He laughs good-naturedly, “I have been at the centre of my fair share of lurid news stories as you know – as I told you, as long as you are safe and happy it does not matter to me.”

She kisses him then, and Skerrett tactfully looks away with a little grin on her face.

When they break apart they stay entwined for a minute, enjoying the moment of togetherness, knowing that it will be all go from here on out.

Then they take a breath and begin to follow Skerrett into the chaos of the study.

 

* * *

 

_Six Months Ago_

 

She comes to spend the day at Brocket Hall.

He raises an eyebrow when his housekeeper shows her into the library, and looks rather concerned when he realises she is truly alone – no ladies, no aides and no security.

“Emma drove me here,” she tells him, “and Lehzen, Harriet and Skerrett are covering for me at the palace – I have no engagements today and I made sure to finish all my paperwork last night.”

Is there any point trying to get her to return, he wonders? He can see the stubborn set of her chin and he doesn’t really want her to leave anyway – her presence always makes the day brighter for him.

“Where is your co-conspirator now?” he asks with a small smile that lets her know he is not angry with her.

“Gone for a day out shopping. She is going to come and get me at five.”

“Well then,” he says, “we must not waste the day.”

 

Perhaps it is a bad idea, for them to be almost alone for so long. The feelings that have continued to grow between them are not forgotten despite his insistence that nothing can happen between them, and with every moment they spend together they become closer.

But they dislike being apart for long and they always revel in each other’s company, crave the joy they feel when they are together.

Because maybe it is against the better judgement of their heads but what is between them is nestled forever in their hearts and they cannot feel it is truly wrong.

 

She plays for him on the piano, they take Dash for a walk and they go on a long, beautiful ride, stopping only at lunch to eat a picnic with just the rooks for company.

She sneaks a single photo of him on her phone while he isn’t paying attention. It is maybe not wise – there are always stories of phone hacking after all – but she just wants to capture that image of him, relaxed and laughing.

She will try and recreate it in her sketchbook later, the one she hides in her room because she knows no one will understand why it is filled with so many pages of Lord M’s face alongside sketches of Dash and Lehzen and Buckingham Palace and her ladies.

On their return they sit together in the library with a roaring fire and take it in turns to tell stories. She speaks of some amusing faux pas she has witnessed on royal visits, of Dash’s misadventures with the pigeons in the gardens of Buckingham Palace, and even a little of her lonely and isolated childhood. In return he tells her outrageous stories of court life under her uncles William and George, of his family and his studies at Cambridge (she is so jealous and dearly hopes to one day earn a degree herself, her early ascension to the throne having prevented her beginning at eighteen), and of his beloved son, struck down by a rare form of Leukaemia eight years previously.

Their topics of conversation range from silly to serious but they are always equally engaged in each other’s words, for the talks between them are always treasured by both.

When they part so that she can return with Emma to Buckingham Palace for dinner, it is with great regret on both sides. These days when they gets hours together are, thanks to her busy schedule, few and far between.

Still, they both know they will go to bed smiling.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

Everyone falls silent as they enter and Victoria, though she has spent her whole life on display, finds herself blushing at their scrutiny.

William grips her hand and she relaxes somewhat.

Then Skerrett coughs and it seems to remind everyone of the current situation.

Alfred Paget comes and draws William into a corner to discuss their strategy, while Emma Portman and Harriet Sutherland hurry over to Victoria.

“I am so pleased for you and William, Ma’am,” says Emma, “of course this media frenzy is greatly disturbing but you both seem very happy all the same.”

“It is so romantic, Ma’am,” gushes Harriet, who greatly enjoys a story of forbidden love.

Victoria smiles thankfully at their supportive words. Of all her ladies these are the two she is closest with and it is good to know she has them on her side. She will need all the help she can get to come unscathed through the next few months with any public disapproval and her mama’s disappointment and anger.

 

* * *

 

_Five Months Ago_

 

“I wish you would call me Victoria,” she says one day as they are out riding together.

“I do not think it would be appropriate, Ma’am. Protocol dictates –”

“I know,” she says, cutting him off, “but protocol dictates enough of my life as it is. Please let me have this one thing for we are friends, are we not?”

“Of course we are … Victoria.”

She beams and her smile lights up his world, “and I may call you William, sometimes?” she asks.

“I would be honoured.”

“William.”

“Yes?”

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to see how it sounded.”

She is giddy now and her mood is infectious. She gallops ahead and he follows her cheerfully.

Here, almost alone (for there is always security hovering nearby) and free from the prying eyes of both the public and the press, they can be free.

Free and happy and together.

It is wonderful.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

She is discussing with Skerrett the sort of questions that might be asked during the press conference when Lehzen hurries in with a worried look on her face.

“The Duchess of Kent is coming,” she warns, “I am very sorry, Majesty, for I tried to get her to stay in her rooms. But she was most insistent when she realised you had arrived.”

“That is quite alright, Lehzen,” Victoria soothes even as her mind begins to panic, “mama is not easily put off, I know that very well.”

Skerrett steps back as Victoria makes her way to the centre of the room. William steps up next to her and she slips a hand into his, drawing on his quiet strength for the confrontation she knows is soon to come.

She hears footsteps moving closer, hears her mama’s familiar voice demanding to enter.

She tenses, takes a breath.

The door opens.

 

* * *

 

_Four Months Ago_

 

“Lord Melbourne, I believe, is disreputable,” warns Lehzen.

“What a ridiculous notion, Lehzen,” Victoria says, “I’ve never met anyone who is more of a gentleman than Lord M.”

Lehzen looks uncomfortable, “I know, Majesty, that you have not seen so much of the world as you should have. But surely you know the stories – the affair with that politician’s wife and that horrible blackmailing scandal.”

“That affair was a rumour,” Victoria retorts, “nothing was ever proven. And poor Lord M was the victim of the blackmail, not the instigator.”

“His wife, Ma’am …”

“Yes, I’ve heard the stories, Lehzen, but it is not Lord M’s fault that his wife became mixed up with George Byron. It was quite terrible of her to go running off with him on his world tour in such a disgraceful fashion and Lord M took such good care of her when she was diagnosed. It is so tragic that he lost both she and his poor son so close together.”

Lehzen sighs at Victoria’s vehement defence of Lord Melbourne. She does not have much against the man personally, aside from the jealousy she does not like to admit even to herself, but she does worry about the closeness between them. Surely it cannot go on much longer, surely it cannot lead anywhere good.

No one will ever be good enough for Lehzen’s darling queen in her eyes, especially not a man so much older, with a distasteful reputation and such a low position in comparison to the queen’s.

The queen does not see it that way though. She might argue with her Lord M on occasion, for she has a stubborn will and a fiery temper when provoked, but she will not hear a word against him from anyone else.

Not even from her dearest Lehzen.

 

She has to try, though, for she does not want the dear girl she has helped raise to become embroiled in a scandal because of Lord Melbourne.

“There are so many stories,” she tells the queen, “and then there was that awful book Lady Caroline wrote, with mentions of some very … very unsavoury practices between herself and Lord Melbourne during their marriage.”

Victoria blushes furiously. She is not quite such a child as Lehzen likes to think and she _has_ heard faint rumours of Lord M’s wild youth, but such a mention does embarrass her still-innocent mind.

“There is nothing wrong with … with unusual practices in relationships as long as it is all consensual and safe,” she stutters out, her face continuing in its bright red shade, “and it is quite wrong to judge someone on their private inclinations in that way.”

She turns to anger now to cover how uneasy Lehzen’s talk has made her. Lord M has never made her feel at all uncomfortable, far from it, and she is sure that there is nothing sinister or sordid in their relationship, but she does hate to hear him judged in such a way.

“Lord M,” she snaps loudly, “is a most excellent man and has always been of great use to me both in my duties and personally. I will not allow you to talk so about him.”

Lehzen falls silent and her wide, shocked eyes almost make Victoria feel bad for shouting.

Almost, but not quite.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

The Duchess of Kent enters in a state hovering between anger and tearfulness – it is a mood her daughter is very familiar with and Victoria finds that cannot be much moved by her mama wringing her hands in despair and looking so grave when she is sure that the only reason for mama’s distress is the failure of all her plans to control her and marry her off to Albert.

Many might tell her that she is being unduly harsh but of course they never spent an entire childhood with the Duchess, being made to feel inferior and stupid by their own mama and that dreadful Sir John. They never spent years hoping when those moments of genuine affection arose from their mama, only to come to the realisation that moments, fleeting moments, was all that affection might well ever be.

Her position demands public politeness and some shows of affection, and even mama does not deserve to be snubbed by her own daughter in front of strangers, but Victoria will not forget what has happened.

 

Her aides and ladies disappear through a door at the back of the room, well aware of the tempers of the two parties now facing off against one another, and wanting to be away from the inevitable argument that will unfold. Only William stays, his hand still held in hers.

“I should like,” says the Duchess in a frosty tone, “to speak with my daughter alone, Lord Melbourne.”

He looks at Victoria and she knows he will do what she asks, will go or stay depending on her feelings.

She grips his hand tighter.

“There is nothing that you can say to me, mama, that William cannot hear.”

The Duchess’ nostrils flare but Victoria refuses to back down. Mama probably still believes she can change her mind and she must be made to see that Victoria will not be cowed, not even by this media circus.

 

“You are so rash, Drina,” her mama says, “very foolish to do this without consulting your uncle Leopold or I. Albert would have been such a good companion for you and he would have understood what is due to me as mother of the queen rather than letting me go about like this.”  
She gestures to her clothes with despair, as if wearing the same outfit twice is a disgrace.

Victoria squeezes William’s hand so tightly he feels the blood flow being restricted. The Duchess’ words do not bother him – he has had much worse said to and about him, and besides, he cares only about the Duchess’ opinion insofar as it impacts on Victoria – but he knows that it hurts her to have her mother constantly criticising her decisions.

“You act as if you are a pauper, mama. You must remember my uncles and their debts – we cannot be like them.”

“Your father always liked me to be well-dressed, Drina.”

“I am sure you did not come here to argue about clothes, mama.”

 

The Duchess sighs, “there is still time for you to change your mind, Drina. You do not have to let this error in judgement ruin things. A few weeks with no new information and a visit from Albert will soon have people forgetting this indiscretion.”

“I do not want Albert!” Victoria cries out in fury, “why will you not accept this, mama? He is a nice boy and I hope we will be good friends but I do not, will not, love him.”

“Do not think this is a fairytale, Drina,” mama warns, her voice getting louder and less controlled as her temper flares, “you have a duty to your people and –”

“I fulfil my duties daily,” Victoria counters, “I smile and wave and talk to dignitaries and give speeches and open hospitals and sign papers. But I _will_ marry for love, I _will_ have this one thing that is my choice alone.”

Her eyes are bright and her expression is fierce. William thinks she looks magnificent.

 

The Duchess looks defeated.

“You are so young, Drina,” she says, trying now to coax rather than command, “I am only trying to guide you.”

“I can manage, mama, I am not a child anymore. If I require assistance then I shall ask for it, but I will not be controlled by you as I was at Kensington.”

“Drina –”

“You may leave us,” says Victoria with an authority that cannot be ignored.

 

The Duchess withdraws silently.

And, when the door closes completely behind her mama, Victoria finally relaxes her grip on the hand of the man next to her.

“Will she ever see me for who I really am?” she asks.

“Give her time,” he replies, “time heals all wounds, they say.”

Victoria thinks of Kensington, of the cold atmosphere and her mama’s control and Sir John’s harsh words.

“Perhaps,” she says softly, “we shall see.”

 

* * *

 

_Three Months Ago_

 

Albert is her third cousin, part of a royal German line that had once held the now defunct Duchy of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha.

She _does not_ like him.

Her uncle Leopold and mama invite Albert and his brother Ernest over to visit – without her permission and much to her consternation – in an obvious ploy to match-make the two of them.

 

She knows marriage between third cousins is not likely to cause any problems for potential children. She knows Albert is not like family as they have only met once before, many years ago. And she knows that inter-family marriage was a common practice amongst royalty until relatively recently.

She knows all this and yet she has no intention of marrying Albert.

The whole idea is odd to her. Her life is not normal but she is determined to choose her own husband and only one man has ever merited her consideration.

That man is not Albert.

 

Oh he is nice enough when she gets to know him a bit. He enjoys music like she does, knows an impressive amount about art, has a rather adorable fascination with trains, and donates both time and money to an extensive number of charities.

But he is also severe and condescending, and his shyness always seems to make him uneasy and unintentionally rude. He is not at all to her tastes and she cannot see why her mama and uncle Leopold seem to believe they will suit.

 

\--------------------

 

The one time they make a connection is on a walk in the palace gardens – he speaking of his mother, who left their family and died soon after, and she of the father she has never known.

However, it lasts only a few minutes, until an accident injures her darling Dash and everything suddenly turns into an argument about her friendship with dear Lord M and a criticism of her tenure as queen so far.

He storms away.

She stays where she is, angry with Albert and worried about Dash, until Lord M comes to find her (because she knows she can always count on him). On their return to the palace they spend a cheerful evening in her rooms with a warm fire (he’s worried she has caught a chill) and pleasant conversation.

 

The two princes leave the next day.

Albert does not say goodbye.

And no matter what her mama or uncle Leopold might suggest, she does not mind at all.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

Her head is spinning with voices as her media aides and ladies all speak over one another as they attempt to work out a full plan of action.

She feels dizzy and shaky.

But he grounds her, steadies her with just a touch of his hand.

“The press conference,” he explains, “they want to do it in about half an hour.”

She nods absently, mind still thinking about how frustrated she is with her mama.

Suddenly he is guiding her into a chair, crouching down so that he can look her in the eyes.

And everyone around her disappears. He is the only one she sees.

“Breathe,” he says, “everything will be fine.”

She looks at him, tears in her eyes, “you’re not cross with me, are you? It’s my fault that they got those photographs after all – you’ve always said I should be more careful.”

“Cross with you … never,” he says with a smile.

She breathes a sigh of relief, “I love you, so very much.”

His smile widens, all joy and astonishment and awe, “I love you too.”

And she knows that everything will be alright.

 

* * *

_Two Months Ago_

 

 “I am sure you could still ask Albert to return, Drina, if you just said that you made a mistake.”

“There was no mistake. I am twenty-one years old, mama – it is not a disaster that I am not married.”

“A monarch should be a symbol of stability to her people,” mama protests, “a husband and children are the ideal way to show that.”

“There will be time for that, mama, when _I_ am ready for it.”

“Albert is so perfect for you, Drina, so suitable and appropriate for your station.”

“It is the twenty-first century, mama, and I do not have to marry someone of royal lineage. I wish to marry for love and I will do so.”

“Oh Drina, you are not still thinking of your precious Lord M. It is quite impossible for anything to happen between you – such a scandal it would be. And he has far too much control over you – I am sure you ought to let Sir John and I help you instead.”

Victoria laughs, but is a harsh sound and nothing like the silvery tinkling sound that abounds whenever she is around dear Lord M.

“Sir John Conroy only wishes to use me as a path to titles and money, mama, and you seem only to care about being recognised as the Queen Mother, not about the happiness of your daughter. You never allowed me to learn what I should have about court life and my duties so how can you criticise the man who has done his utmost to help me be the queen this country deserves.”

“Melbourne should never have been allowed to be so near you. So much infamy is attached to him, and he is turning you against your own mama.”

“He is doing nothing of the sort,” Victoria shouts, “ _you_ turned me against you long ago mama. You never defended me at Kensington – for as long as I can remember you have always looked to _that man_ first and then to me, have always laughed when he made fun of how short I was, have always kept me in the dark about everything that could have helped me.”

The Duchess stands abruptly, “I will not stay here when you are being so intransigent, Drina. I have always tried to do the best I can for you and so has Sir John. You have been poisoned against me by your Lord Melbourne and the Baroness.”

She moves towards the exit and Victoria turns stubbornly away from her. She knows what mama wants, knows that she wants Victoria to stop her and ask her to stay and make up. But she will not do it – mama has behaved abominably and she deserves no such courtesy.

 

Only when she hears the door slam shut does she burst into tears, overwrought by the stress her mama’s visits always cause and sick of her unwelcome matchmaking.

She does not want a silly boy like Albert.

There is only one man she wants.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

The press are gathering downstairs in preparation for the press conference and Victoria is getting steadily more nervous by the moment.

She does not currently have William to comfort her. They have both been separated to change into something more suitable than the dark, casual clothes they both donned to try and escape past the press on their way to Buckingham Palace.

“The purple or the pink?” asks Mrs Jenkins, gesturing to two different dresses.

Victoria contemplates them. The pink is the more demure, but that is not quite the impression she wishes to give. The purple seems stronger somehow, and of course it is the colour of royalty. She remembers wearing purple to a state dinner once, and how William had complimented her most ardently. Her decision is made.

“The purple please, Mrs Jenkins. And I think perhaps no tiara, don’t you agree Skerrett?”

Her aide nods, “it isn’t a formal occasion after all and I think in this instance a tiara would be a bit much. We want to present smart and respectable but also a couple in love to remind people of how important it is to be able to choose your partner in life – a tiara would, I think, throw that off.”

“And of course it is so heavy,” Victoria says, “not like the crown but it does give me such a headache and I am sure I will need all my wits about me for this.”

“Quite right, Ma’am,” says Skerrett, “now we have about fifteen minutes for makeup and hair before we have to go down. I am sure Lord Melbourne will be almost ready – shall I have him sent in when he is done.”

Victoria lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding in, “yes, thank you Skerrett.”

 

* * *

 

_One Month Ago_

 

“Lord M,” says Victoria with a look of pleasant surprise on her face when he is announced, “how fortunate that you have come, for I was just about to have Skerrett contact you. The French ambassador has fallen ill – food poisoning, the poor woman – and I do feel badly for her but of course this frees up my day nicely and it is such perfect weather for a ride. You will join me, will you not?”

She frowns when Lord M does not smile back at her, only looks far graver than usual.

“I am afraid I must insist that you do not ride out, Ma’am. It is best for you to remain in the palace today.”

Victoria’s reflex is to argue with him, as she has never liked being ordered (it reminds her too much of mama and Sir John), but of course this is Lord M and he is dearer to her than any other.

“But it is good weather,” she protests, “and I have no pressing engagements. Do you not wish to ride out with me?”

Her crestfallen expression distresses him and he hurries to correct her, “of course I would love to go out with you, Ma’am, and I very much enjoy our rides, but I have been informed by your security there is a slight safety concern at the moment and I do not wish you to be put into any sort of danger.”

“Nothing much to worry about,” he tries to reassure her when she begins to look alarmed, “I have always told you after all that the British are not really a revolutionary people. It is just a small protest scheduled for today … anti-royalists, you know. They are camped out close to the gates and are quite peaceful at the moment, but it is best not to agitate them, I think.”

“You are right, Lord M, of course. Yes … I will stay inside today.”

 

She tries to look brave but he notes a small undercurrent of fear, a tremor in her hands.

“This is quite common, Ma’am. Such protests are not always so near to the palace but they do happen sometimes, though they are usually rather small and tame.”

She thinks of her history lessons on the French Revolution and the fate of the Romanovs, and despite Lord M’s attempts to soothe her she cannot get the idea out of her head. This is the twenty-first century, of course, and England is not likely to start lynching their royal family, but such protests do make her think about the frailty of her position.

“I do not think my family has done much to be admired,” she admits, “my uncles with their debts and all those horrid affairs; poor Charlotte dying in childbirth because, people say, her father insisted she stay here at the palace rather than in a hospital; and all those terrible rumours about uncle Cumberland.”

“Why do you think everyone was so pleased by your ascension, Ma’am?” says Lord M, “because you are young and bright and good in a way they were not.”

“I think they do not care for me as they did,” Victoria says sadly, “not after Lady Flora – I still shudder when I think of the caricatures and the stories.”

“You were learning, Ma’am, and there is no shame in making mistakes – to err is human, as they say.”

“Not when they expect perfection every day,” says Victoria with an unusual amount of cynicism, “I wonder sometimes why they keep me and my family – we are an expensive tourist trap, are we not?”

“You are only upset because of the protest,” says Lord M, “you must know what an inspirational institution royalty is for our country. You are not just a pretty doll, Ma’am, but a symbol for England. A hard duty it may be but it is one I know you work hard at – you are getting to be so knowledgeable I am sure you no longer need me.”

“Oh I will always need you,” Victoria cries out with great feeling, “if you are not my advisor than I believe you are certainly my friend.”

“Of course I am your friend, Ma’am. I consider it an honour.”

Victoria relaxes. She does so hate it when Lord M talks of leaving or speaks as if he will not be around her for much longer. He is the only one she can trust with everything, the only one who has such unwavering belief in her.

 

She looks out of the window, sees placards in the distance and the flashes of cameras as both press and curious tourists document the protest.

“How odd it would be if they took away my crown,” she says idly, “I should have no idea what to do with myself.”

“I am sure that will never happen, Ma’am,” says Lord M with a quiet vehemence that suggests anyone who might seek to remove the English monarchy would have a severely uphill battle facing them.

“You are right, I daresay,” Victoria concedes, “but it is an interesting idea nonetheless. I should be a private person, able to go to university and walk around a park without security following me everywhere. I could live in a house I might walk the whole way around in just a few minutes, and look ridiculous in public without photographs of such an occasion being splashed over the front pages of newspapers and magazines.”

She pauses for a moment and sighs, “I could love who I wanted without anyone saying anything about duty over inclination.”

 

“Ma’am …” he begins with some trepidation but she cuts him off.

“You know that you promised to call me Victoria when it was appropriate,” she reminds him.

“I believe most would consider it is never appropriate.”

She puts her hands on her hips and glares at him.

“Victoria,” he tries again and her eyes soften, “I have always tried to be honest with you. I know your feelings and I believe that you know mine … but I must tell you once more that I do not consider it advisable for you to offer your heart to someone like me. I am not what you deserve – I am not young and I am not royal. I have a scandalous past I should not wish to taint you with. I do not wish to be a cause of trouble for you and I _never_ wish to be something you will later regret.”

Though she looks momentarily hurt, Victoria rallies and channels all the regal power she can into her words, “I believe, William,” she says, using his Christian name over her preferred nickname to show her seriousness, “that _I_ know more than anyone what I deserve. You do not fall at all short – rather I believe you to be a far wiser and more caring companion than I sometimes deserve. You underestimate yourself.”

“As do you,” he tells her softly, “we are a pair, are we not?”

 

She lets out a breath and drops ungracefully into an armchair. She is so tired of the limbo between them, of their feelings being stunted by that knowledge in the back of their minds that many will not accept the love that is between them.

He sits down slowly on the chair next to her, takes her hands in his and just quietly holds them.

“Why does it have to be so hard?” she asks after a minute’s silence between them.

“We all have a price to pay in our lives,” he tells her, “yours is just more public than most.”

“I cannot pretend to feel what I do not,” she says softly, “not in this. For everything else I can smile and wave, but not with my heart – I would rather lose my crown before I lost you, because you are the one that makes this life, magnificence and burdens both, bearable.”

 

She looks at him, eyes full of unshed tears, “I am no fool and I know it will be hard. I know I am asking far too much of you. Perhaps I am asking too much of my people too, and being selfish … but I will not live a lie anymore.”

A single tear drops onto her cheek and he leans forward almost without thinking to kiss it away.

Her breath hitches slightly at the feel of his lips on her skin, at this gesture that is far more intimate than their customary greeting of him kissing her hand.

He pulls back quickly but she turns her head and moves forward so that their lips meet for the first time.

 

And what heaven, what bliss.

Later she will write down in her diary all the feelings this one kiss elicits – the warmth and joy and pleasure and rightness of it all – but for now she only enjoys it and wonders why she has waited so long.

 

She wonders if he will pull away, if he will continue to deny what they both want (and need) out of an admirable but frustrating sense of duty.

For a moment it seems like he will. He is so absolutely still and she can sense the tension in his body.

But then it all changes. He relaxes, lifts his hands to cup her face and slants his lips across hers in a way that is anything but passive.

She has experienced a few kisses, fairly chaste affairs with two different boys before she became queen. This is something else entirely. She thinks it is probably due to the deeper feelings between them … and maybe Lord M’s superior experience too.

Her mind is soon fully occupied, though, in enjoying the kiss. Her own hands move of their own accord – one tangles in the curls at the nape of his neck and the other slides round to rest on his shoulder.

The closeness is delightful, the sensations beyond compare.

How she loves him, this wonderful man, her darling William.

 

When they break apart she keeps her hold on him, will not let him move away.

She does not want this feeling to end, does not want him to try and bring reality into her exultant state.

She looks up at him, searches his face for the subtle expressions that might offer a hint of his thoughts.

He gazes at her and she sees the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, always a sign of pleasure.

Her hold on him loosens slightly. She senses that he will stay.

 

“You are … entirely and breathtakingly beautiful,” he tells her, “and I find that I am quite powerless to resist you.”

She grins happily, “you will not forsake me?”

“Never.”

“And we will be together?”

“It will be hard,” he tells her, more serious now, “harder perhaps than anything either of us have ever experienced. And you will have to be patient, dearest Victoria … but yes, we will be together.”

Her smile widens and she leans up to kiss him once more.

She thinks that this is the very best of days.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

There has not been time to find someone professional to do her hair and makeup. The usual lady is away on holiday and with all the fuss security are loathe to let a stranger in at the moment.

So Skerrett, who has a talent with hairstyles that Victoria often wishes she could imitate, and Harriet, who is always perfectly made-up, step in to help.

William comes in just as Skerrett is using the hairspray and Harriet, who has finished Victoria’s makeup, is debating with Emma about which of three different perfumes they should use.

He hurries over to her and she sighs thankfully as he sits down next to her, “you look beautiful.”

She smiles weakly but even his compliments cannot cheer her much, for her nerves are beginning to get the best of her.

“You will be fine,” he says, “the speech is all prepared and I am sure you will read it perfectly. Do not focus on the audience, just on the words. It is quite right to be nervous, for I find that one never performs so well if they feel completely at ease.”

She nods a little shakily.

“I will be right there,” he reminds her, “and I will make a special note of anyone who dares to say anything rude so that you can have them thrown straight into the Tower of London.”

A giggle escapes her at his words and she feels so much better.

 

* * *

 

_Three Weeks Ago_

 

He finds Victoria in a state of elation when he arrives to help her prepare for the American visit in a few weeks.

“Sir John Conroy is gone for good,” she declares with a beam on her face, “I have finally got rid of him.”

“My heartiest congratulations. How did you manage it?”

“He was angling for a title, as you know,” she explains, “but of course I had no intention of rewarding him after the despicable way he has behaved. I followed your advice to be patient and I asked my secretary to do some investigation. It was found that he has grossly mismanaged mama’s finances, and poor aunt Sophia’s too. I made him aware of what I had discovered and he left the palace yesterday afternoon.”

“Most prudently done,” he tells her, “very wise to gather evidence and avoid a scene.”

“There was a scene with mama,” she admits, “she was quite distressed by his leaving even after I explained his shocking behaviour. She refuses to believe it.”

“We cannot always see clearly when it comes to those we care about.”

Victoria shakes her head sadly. She does not at all understand what her mama sees in Sir John, or how she has never realised what an insidious character he is.

“My secretary is arranging to have the financial matters looked into as discretely as possible to see if any of the money might be recovered. But for the moment I am only glad that he is no longer at the palace.”

“I am glad it was all concluded satisfactorily. I am sure few will be sorry to see him go.”

 

Victoria grins at him, “quite true. I for one feel that the palace is a better place already.”

She is in high spirits, he notes with a smile, and he certainly cannot blame her for rejoicing in Sir John Conroy’s departure.

“I am so very happy today, for with Sir John gone I am sure we will have far fewer of the rumours that sometimes circulate – I am sure he began many of them to try and enable him to get control over me like he had over mama.”

William only nods. He is not quite sure that Sir John was the instrument behind the whisperings in the palace about his relationship with the queen, though the man surely at least used them to his own advantage. But in any case his leaving can only be a positive sign, for without him the Duchess of Kent may eventually be brought round to a better understanding of her daughter, which will lead to a far more harmonious life at Buckingham Palace.

 

“But of course,” she says, “I have not even said hello yet.”

She darts forward and stands on her tiptoes to press her lips to his and he closes his eyes to savour the pleasure of this intimacy.

He still cannot quite believe that he is allowed to do this, that this relationship he has dreamed about almost since he met her is now a reality.

They break apart quicker than they would like but they know they must be alert and aware in case they are spotted, for though she fervently wishes to tell the whole world how much she loves William she knows he is right when he says they must move forward carefully to ensure they do not encounter too much backlash.

She does not want anything to ruin what is between them.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

As they walk down the corridors the noise from the assembled press gets louder and Victoria finds herself more and more reluctant to face them.

She likes to think she is as brave as dear William often says she is, but this is a matter that is so important to her and she does not want to make a mess of things.

But they all keep walking, keep getting closer to the noise.

They stop by the door and her aides and ladies go ahead to give the introduction and quiet the crowd.

Now it is just she and William. She looks at him, hesitation clear in her eyes.

“You can do this,” he tells her, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to it, “I believe in you.”

She looks at him with so much love she thinks she might burst and when Skerrett comes out to fetch them she nods at her.

She is ready.

 

* * *

 

_One Week Ago_

 

“Are you looking forward to the ball tomorrow?” asks Lord M as they sit together in her study while Victoria looks over some papers about an upcoming visit to Scotland.

“Oh yes,” she says with excitement, “it seems so long since I last had the chance to dance.”

“Really, Ma’am … I seem to recall witnessing a rather impressive moonwalk when I stopped by to see you last Friday.”

She tries to look offended by the reminder of her embarrassment at his finding her doing her best Michael Jackson impression – she couldn’t be dignified _all_ of the time after all – but the merriment twinkling in his eyes and the twitching corners of his mouth show he is only teasing her … and of course it was certainly a ridiculously amusing sight, she is sure.

“I do hope it all goes well,” she frets a little, “I do so want to impress the Americans. I always worry that President Obama will think me foolish, for you know he does far more for his country than I seem to do for mine, and his wife is very stylish and clever … oh I do sometimes wish I were taller, I look so short and stubby next to her.”

“Only nerves,” he tells her reassuringly, “you do it all beautifully. I remember they were both very complimentary about you during their visit two years ago, and of course you are ever so much wiser now.”

He squeezes her hand, “and while I agree that the First Lady is very elegant, I do not believe she will overshadow you at all, for as I always tell you, you possess such a natural dignity as I have never seen, and an excessively charming manner.”

She beams at him. Dear Lord M, he always knows exactly what to say to make her feel better. So many horrid people whisper that he uses false flattery and empty words to remain close to her for his own gain but she knows that is certainly wrong. She might be young and sometimes naïve but she is not an ignorant child and she is sure Lord M is completely genuine – he is always so very honest with her about his opinions on people and news and policies. She hears many compliments but what makes Lord M different is that she knows he means every one of them – the way he sees her always astonishes and even humbles her, and he never fails to give her the belief in herself she needs when the weight of her duties and rigidly controlled life seem to become too much.

 

“And you will dance with me tomorrow?” she asks, “of course I must dance the first with the president, but the second perhaps with you?”

He looks a little uneasy, “I may go to Brocket Hall for a few days. You will have much to occupy you with the Americans here so I am sure you will not miss me.”

“You cannot go to Brocket Hall, Lord M, what if I need your help?”

“You are very capable, Ma’am, and you have your aides and ladies to assist you.”

She knows he is right. She has studied extensively in preparation for the president’s upcoming visit, and she knows that should she forget a name then Emma, Harriet or Skerrett will be there to help. But three days without Lord M seems far too long.

 

“It will be very dull,” she tells him, “no one can make me laugh like you can, and they never know what to say when I get nervous – I declare that sometimes they seem quite frightened of me.”

He does not laugh, though it takes some effort. The queen can be quite imperious and terrifying in a temper and he does feel for her ladies as they do not share his knack for coaxing her back into good humour.

“I regret that my absence will hurt you, Victoria,” he says gently.

He does not usually allow himself to use her first name – despite her insistence, despite their relationship. He does not want to get into a habit that might cause trouble if they are overheard. But he thinks now is an appropriate time, for her truly does not want to upset her.

“We must be careful now more than ever,” he reminds her, “and there must be no trouble to overshadow this visit.”

He leans down to kiss her frown away and she relaxes into his arms.

He is always so concerned about her wellbeing and reputation, and though his careful approach is sometimes a bit too slow for her she knows it is probably for the best.

Short separations like this will be more than worth it if it means they will soon be able to be together openly.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

She stands in front of the assembled press.

Respectable journalists only, of course, but even so there is an air of almost hysteria at the prospect of this story.

There was always fodder for the press during the reigns of her uncles, but the same old scandals about over-spending and drunkenness and illegitimate children, when linked to ageing and un-photogenic kings and royal dukes, lost their allure soon enough. But this is something new – the queen, young and fresh-faced and if not exactly beautiful then certainly striking, romantically involved with a man nearly thirty years older than her, whose colourful past allows them to delve back into popular past scandals such as the well-publicised and dramatic affair between socialite Lady Caroline Lamb and rockstar George Byron.

These journalists will not write complete trash like some of the less reputable papers and magazines, but they want a sensation and her job is to give them their story without discrediting herself, the crown or the royal family.

All the while maintaining her position that she _will_ marry William no matter the things people might say.

She takes a moment to look around, at the faceless crowd, at her aides behind her and her ladies to the side. She glances at William and he gives her an encouraging smile.

She begins.

 

* * *

 

_Three Days Ago_

 

“The American visit seems to have gone off well,” he says as they wander hand in hand down a path in the Buckingham Palace gardens, hidden by trees and having escaped the queen’s security for a few minutes.

“They were very pleasant,” Victoria says, “and they enjoyed their stay, I think. The president particularly complimented me on my grasp of American politics – so you see all our talks have paid off.”

“I do hope you were not quite as frank with the Americans as I am with my remarks. I have the highest respect for the president – he at least seems like the sort of man who can enjoy life, which is more than I can say for most of the English politicians – but I admit I do find so many of the Americans quite ridiculous.”

“I was of course most diplomatic,” she assures him with a little smile, “though I really do not think the president would have much minded – he has an amusing sense of humour.”

“And you seemed to enjoy the ball. Your dress was stunning and you picked an excellent colour – purple does suit you so, quite rightly as it is the colour of royalty.”

“I danced so much,” she enthuses, “my feet ached exceptionally the next day, though, and I was quite tired. I declare that I almost fell asleep listening to Robert Peel’s speech – he is not at all an interesting man.”

“He is certainly an able Prime Minister,” he reminds her with just a hint of scolding in his tone, “though he may not have such happy manners as one might desire.”

“He has no manners at all,” she says tartly.

“Not everyone is comfortable in the company of royalty,” he reminds her, “and you must be polite no matter your personal opinion.”

 

Victoria sighs. Monarchs only ever seem to be allowed to support ideals like peace and stability and unity rather than show any preference for objects or people. She must be equally pleased at being presented with something she likes and something she doesn’t; she must have an Apple iPhone but a Microsoft laptop; she must clap at every performance she watches whether she has been interested or bored.

Mama is always telling her she must only like what is appropriate. Lehzen always looks alarmed when she expresses an opinion at all outside the norm. Even her ladies look shocked when she is exceptionally effusive or angry over something.

Sometimes she thinks they believe she should be a robot, capable only of moderate feelings, with a smile and a royal wave ready for all.

Only Lord M, her dear William, understands. He tries to explain _why_ she must behave in this way rather than just ordering her to do so. And when it all becomes too much he listens and soothes and lets her be angry and scared and sad. She can be herself with him, flaws and all, without ever worrying that he will turn away from her.

 

She suddenly feels his hand clasp hers and realises she has become caught up in her thoughts.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she tells him, thinking of how the daily deliveries of bouquets from Brocket Hall during his short absence were so good at cheering her up while he was gone, “they were as beautiful as ever.”

“The glasshouses at Brocket Hall will always be at your service,” he tells her.

When they have walked further and are covered from the direct sightline of the palace by some trees he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a single bloom, slightly crumpled but still lovely.

He pins it in her hair and she reaches up so her fingers can caress the soft, silky petals.

“A gardenia,” he explains quietly, “to symbolise a secret love.”

“Must we keep it all a secret for long?” Victoria asks.

“Only as long as it takes to ensure that this brings no harm onto you. I am not ashamed in the least,” William reassures her, addressing her unspoken fears before they have a chance to dishearten her, “I only think that this must be carefully managed and I do not want an early reveal to make things any more difficult for you than they are sure to become already.”

 

She grips his hands and impulsively leans up to kiss him fiercely.

He responds in kind, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her slightly to make up for their height difference.

The kiss deepens and she sighs in delight. He has been so careful with his kisses recently, always quick and near-chaste in case someone comes across them.

But now it seems her surprise kiss has released all the emotions in them both for he does not let her go, just kisses her until they have to break apart and take a breath.

She presses her lips to the warmth of the crook of his neck and smiles against his skin when she feels him shiver slightly.

To be like this together is so satisfying and she revels in it, knowing that he will soon enough step away and reality will return to the situation, for he will certainly worry that her security might have spotted them.

She will reassure him that of course no one can spot them here, she is sure of it.

 

Neither of them see the photographer who is realising he has just found a scoop that will certainly get him the promotion he desires.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

She reads the statement with a clear voice borne of three years’ practice and tries very hard not to let a single tremor or stutter escape her lips.

She confirms that the photographs are indeed of herself and Lord Melbourne, that the relationship is only recently begun but built on the deepest respect and a strong friendship, that they do consider themselves to be engaged, that she does not believe the age gap is an obstacle nor is she concerned with what went on between William, Caroline and George Byron in the past.

“I wish to marry for love,” she tells them, “as I support the right of all my subjects to marry for love.”

She takes a breath, “not only do I firmly believe that this relationship will bring me great personal happiness, I also feel it can only help me in fulfilling my duties to my people, which are of course of the utmost importance to me. I hope that my subjects will understand this and support me in my upcoming marriage.”

She pauses a moment, “thank you all for your time.”

And it is over.

 

* * *

 

_One Hour Ago_

They are at Dover House together when the story breaks.

 

They haven’t seen each other since their walk in the palace gardens three days previously and, discovering an unexpectedly free morning ahead, Victoria has, with Emma’s help, managed to get herself incognito from the palace to Lord Melbourne’s London residence in the hopes of spending a few uninterrupted hours with him.

Though he chides her a little for sneaking away she knows he is glad to see her, pleased that they can have some time together where they can be affectionate without always being on alert for those who might use knowledge of their relationship against them.

 

Now they sit on a sofa in his impressive library and she curls up against him as he plays with the long, silky strands of her hair (which is loose rather than in its usual bun) and they debate the merits and failings of Elizabeth I.

“Do you think she was lonely?” asks Victoria as she presses her cheek against the soft wool of his waistcoat.

“I believe she found companions,” he answers, “she was very close to Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. Many say they were in love.”

“But they did not marry?”

“He had a wife, but then she died. After that … well I think they both knew they were not in a position to marry, no matter their inclinations.”

“It seems so cruel,” Victoria says, “not being able to marry the man you love.”

“It would have been seen as a degradation. There were many expectations then about who was suitable to marry royalty … even now there are a lot of people who feel that monarchs have a duty to marry only those considered appropriate.”

His words are careful but she immediately sees the similarities between Elizabeth’s situation and her own, and she feels an immense sympathy for the Tudor queen.

“I do not think I could bear it – I have not seen so many happy marriages and I have no desire to count my own among that number.”

She wraps an arm around him and burrows further against his side. She does not wish to think gloomy thoughts of Queen Elizabeth’s unhappiness, for she is determined not to let her happy mood be spoiled and sure that she has made the best choice of future husband.

He presses a kiss to her head and enjoys the warmth and delight that fills him at having her so close. He is steadfast in his resolution to ensure that she never has cause to regret what is between them – the greatest pleasure, he thinks, will be to spend the rest of his life with this marvellous, enchanting woman and do his utmost to make sure she is happy.

 

Their phones beep then in unison and though they are comfortable and cosy they reach to check the messages, for they know that anything that could call Victoria back to the palace should be noted immediately.

Victoria looks at her phone to see a text from Skerrett.

_Your Majesty, please call me as soon as possible._

She looks worriedly at William, who holds his phone out to show her that he has a similar text from Emma.

She pulls up her contacts to find Skerrett’s name and calls her with a her worry rising.

  
“Your Majesty?” says her aide.

“What is it, Skerrett?” she asks.

“I’m very sorry, Ma’am. There is a story breaking on the news … it seems they have photographs of you … you and Lord Melbourne.”

Victoria goes pale and very nearly drops her phone.

William looks concerned and plucks the phone out of her hand so that he can talk to Skerrett.

She hears the chatter of their rapid conversation but does not note what they are saying.

Photographs. Breaking news. Her and Lord Melbourne.

It is just what they have been trying to avoid, just what dear William was so very worried about.

Will they try to separate her from him? Surely they cannot do that.

 

Suddenly there is quiet and William is there, passing back her phone and looking tired.

“We have to go to the palace,” he tells her, “they’re sending a car. They want you to do a press conference in the next few hours to get ahead of this.”

She nods absently but her mind does not really compute what he is saying.

“Which photographs?” she asks softly.

“From the palace gardens three days ago,” he admits.

She drops her head in shame, thinking of the kiss she had initiated, of her insistence that there would be no one watching them.

“We need to change,” he tells her, “apparently it’s already all over the internet and there is a crowd of reporters starting to gather outside the house. We should both wear dark clothes and see about finding some hats.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“You did not know,” he tells her gently, “and while it is not an ideal situation we will cope, I promise.”

He kisses her briefly but it is enough to tell her that he is not angry with her.

So much is going wrong now but at least she knows that she has William to support her.

And that is enough.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

Later the two of them will sit down with Skerrett and the other aides to discuss the reaction.

There will be articles and GIFs and posts across the internet, with a video of the conference (shaky, taken with a phone) posted on youtube within the hour.

There will be good and bad and indifferent reactions. Anti-royalists using the situation as another way to push their points; people all over the world questioning whether Victoria’s _I support the right of all of my subjects to marry for love_ is a declaration of support for gay marriage; political analysts reminding everyone of how little real power the monarch has; some gushing about the romance of it all while others raise concerns about the age difference and whether someone with Lord Melbourne’s past should be the father of the future monarch.

Public opinion comes out positive overall.

Years later there will be a film about the day of this press conference which will win critical acclaim and three Oscars. There will also be a popular Netflix show focusing on the first three years of Queen Victoria’s reign and the beginnings of her relationship with Lord Melbourne.

 

Right now, though, none of that matters to them.

They stand there, as the cameras flash and Skerrett explains that further enquiries can be directed to the Press Office, with their hands entwined and eyes only for each other.

They are in love. They are together. They no longer have to hide their feelings.

And their smiles have never been wider.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.


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